


What We Want

by MurderousQueen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Artist!Dean, Dad!Dean, Fangirl!Claire, M/M, Nerdy!Cas who gets nerdier thanks to Dean, Slow Burn, dad!Cas, dadstiel, destiel au, fanboy!dean, nerdy!dean, teacher!Cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-08-30 14:11:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8536264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurderousQueen/pseuds/MurderousQueen
Summary: Dean's a widower. Cas's wife is a lesbian who left him for his sister. They've both got kids. Could it be any more obvious?





	1. Han Solo

In the Winchester household, Halloween was always a fun occasion. This year was no exception. Ben was going as Luke Skywalker; he’d recently gotten into Star Wars and now he was obsessed with it. Mary was going as Yoda, because she was small so about the right size for it. Dean was going as Darth Vader, and insisted upon carrying around a recording of The Imperial March and playing it whenever he walked, which made Mary laugh but made Ben complain loudly that he was being embarrassed, but whenever Dean spouted a Vader quote he would laugh right along with his sister.

It was their first Halloween without Lisa.

Last year, Dean and Lisa had gone as Molly and Arthur Weasley, Ben and Mary as Ron and Ginny. They’d had wands and everything, and the wands lid up at the ends. They’d talked in horrible fake British accents and called candy “sweets” and Dean and Lisa had asked if the houses they visited in their neighbor hood had any tea and crumpets, because that was British, right?

Despite the sadness of their loss this year, they didn’t let it dampen their spirits and they set out onto the streets, leaving a cauldron full of candy on their own doorstep for children to take from as they went around. Dean could have easily stayed behind and given out the candy because Ben was twelve now and more than responsible enough to take care of his four year old sister as they roamed the neighborhood, but they had always done this as a family and this year was no different.

Ben held his candy bag on the end of his lightsaber as they wandered door to door, skipping their next door neighbor because there had been a moving van outside earlier and they didn’t want to bother the new neighbors who were just settling in, and they came out the other side of the night pretty lucky.

They’d gone out and six and returned home at seven, and from on they watched a spooky children’s movie, this year’s choice being The Little Vampire. At nine, Mary went to bed whistling Tony and Anna’s special whistle, tired and full of candy. Ben went off a half hour later, asking if next year they could go as a the vampire family from the movie and asking if he could have candy for breakfast.

At ten, there was a knock on the front door.

Dean had been in the living room, sipping some good wine by the fire with the TV on in the background, working on a piece for work when that knock sounded. He’d decided to move out of his studio for the night to be more comfortable and lounge on the couch in pajama bottoms and an old Star Wars shirt keeping in theme with the evening as he worked on a commission of The Tenth Doctor from Doctor Who swinging on a swing in a circle surrounded by roses.

Through the peep hole, Dean spotted some late trick-or-treaters, so he dashed off to grab the remainder of the candy he’d set out before opening the door to a teen dressed as Han Solo and a man who must be her father, dressed in a casual and well-fitting blue button down and jeans, with a jacked to shield him from the cold, holding a sign that said “I was too lazy to wear a costume so I’m a Stormtrooper out of uniform.”

‘Trick or – _nice shirt_ , dude!’

Dean pressed a hand to his chest, as if touched.

‘Han Solo just complimented my shirt,’ he declared. ‘I’ve never been more flattered. Here, take as much as you want. I doubt there’ll be more around tonight and if you don’t take it I’ll end up eating all of it.’

‘Thanks!’ Han Solo grinned, shoving her hand into the cauldron.

‘Anything for the Stormtrooper?’ Dean asked, then he wanted to add a _holy shit_ because he’d finally looked properly at her father.

That was one hot Stormtrooper out of uniform. Dark hair, blue eyes, pretty smile. A Stormtrooper’s uniform hiding that would be a sin.

‘Nah,’ shrugged the hot Stormtrooper. ‘I’ll just eat all of hers tomorrow so I can tell her I ate all of her Halloween candy and send it in to Jimmy Kimmel and get myself on TV. The twist is that I won’t be lying.’

‘Shh,’ Dean urged, ‘she’s right there. She can hear you.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about me hearing,’ Han Solo replied, ‘he steals my candy, I steal his pork rinds.’

‘You go, Han Solo,’ Dean grinned. ‘If only you guys had come around earlier … me and my kids were dressed as Vader, Luke and Yoda.’

‘We always go out late,’ said Han, ‘though that would have been cool. We almost didn’t go out at all because this lame dad didn’t have a costume.’

‘I’m literally wearing a costume right now!’ the hot Stormtrooper protested. His voice was deep, gravely and pleasant to listen to.

‘You’re just saying that because you were too lazy to put on your costume!’

‘I’ve been unpacking boxes all day, Claire. That’s not easy.’

‘My name is _Han_.’

‘Han Lee, I know. So go bust Max and Caroline’s’ balls and not mine.’

‘Han _Solo_. Not Han from Two Broke Girls.’

‘I’m so sorry. My mistake. And I’m so sorry for fighting with my daughter in front of you, man in the Star Wars shirt.’

‘Not a problem,’ Dean promised. ‘Are you guys the new neighbors?’

‘Right next door,’ hot Stormtrooper grinned. ‘You’re our first stop, so congratulations on that, Star Wars shirt.’

‘Dean.’

‘Castiel. Call me Cas.’

Castiel the hot Stormtrooper extended a hand, which Dean shook. Firm, friendly grip.

‘And I’m Han Solo,’ Han Solo declared, although it had been let slip that her name was Claire.

‘And I’ve never been more honored to serve anyone on any good Halloween night,’ Dean smiled down at her proud beam. ‘And listen, if you two need any help with boxes or setting up or whatever, let me know. I’d be happy to lend a hand, and I’m sure a lot of other people in the neighborhood would too. Real friendly group.’

‘Any hot girls around?’ Han Solo asked brightly.

‘Your age or mine?’ Dean asked, quirking an eyebrow at the unusual question.

‘Either,’ Han shrugged. ‘I’m on the lookout for a Leia and I don’t care if she’s an older woman.’

‘And that’s enough out of you,’ the hot Castiel – hot Stormtrooper – damn, just _Castiel_ or Cas decided, placing his hand firmly over Claire’s mouth. ‘But I’d be very grateful for your help, or anyone’s really at this point. You have no idea how much I’m dreading painting the entire house by myself.’

‘Wht’m I, chpp’d l’vr?’ came a muffled question from Han.

‘By myself and with someone who will show up, paint two strokes and then go off to start running the internet bill up before it’s even installed,’ Castiel corrected himself, ‘my mistake.’

‘I can help you paint any time,’ Dean offered. ‘I sort of do it professionally.’

‘You paint houses?’

‘If someone pays be to paint a picture of their house, then sure.’ Dean laughed when he saw Castiel frown in slight confusion. ‘I’m an artist.’

‘Oh my god,’ Han said excitedly, pushing her father’s hand away from her mouth, ‘can you paint me? I’ve always wanted my own portrait like some super important historical figure.’

‘Han, I’m sure he charges for that,’ Castiel disapproved.

‘Usually,’ Dean reasoned, ‘but hey, Han Solo just asked me to paint her, so I’ll do that for free.’

‘Come over tomorrow to help us paint,’ Han Solo requested, ‘and then we can talk about my …’ she trailed off to get into a very regal position, ‘portrait sitting. Father darling, I’d like you to buy me a swan to sit on the arm of my throne. I’d also like a throne.’

‘You can have the pigeon and the couch.’

‘He’s a _canary_.’

‘Yeah, whatever.’

‘Okay, so, tomorrow?’ Han asked Dean excitedly.

Castiel cut in before Dean could answer, with, ‘come on Claire – sorry, Han – I’m sure he doesn’t have time to come over to a complete stranger’s house to paint the house and the stranger for free.’

‘I’m not a stranger,’ Han corrected, ‘I’m Han Solo. And it doesn’t _have_ to be tomorrow. It can be any time, we’ll be painting the house for like a week. And you can even bring Luke and Yoda because I’m assuming you were Vader because you’re the dad.’

‘Well, I …’

Dean looked up at Castiel questioningly, who looked down at Han “Claire” Solo’s eager grin.

‘Up to you,’ Castiel shrugged. ‘My job and her school doesn’t start until next week so it’s whenever you’re free.’

‘I work at home so my hours are pretty flexible,’ Dean shrugged. ‘And I’m pretty free tomorrow. The thing I’m working on is small and my deadline for it isn’t for another three days anyway. My son’s got school tomorrow but my daughter’s pre-school isn’t back on until next week, so …’

‘Bring her,’ Han urged. ‘I like little kids. They’re cute.’

‘I agree,’ Castiel nodded. ‘Claire has a dog she can play with if she likes dogs and she could even help paint the low bits on the walls if she’s up for it. And yes Claire, I know, you’re not Claire, you’re Han Solo.’

‘She does love painting,’ Dean grinned. ‘Alright, tomorrow. I’ll help you guys paint and we can talk about that portrait.’

‘It doesn’t even have to be giant,’ Han reasoned, ‘just like, a normal sheet like you find for printers.’

‘A-four it is.’

‘What time do you think would work best?’ Castiel asked. ‘We’re free all day from dawn until dusk.’

‘Same with me,’ Dean grinned.

‘How about like, twelve?’ Han asked. ‘We could all work for an hour and then get lunch and then work some more. Perfect, right? It’s perfect. I’m a genius.’

Dean and Castiel exchanged a glance. Castiel gave an approving nod, so Dean looked down at the beaming Han Solo.

‘Twelve it is,’ Dean grinned. ‘And Mary loves dogs.’

‘She can talk to our canary too if she wants. He’s one of those finger-tame ones that are super rare. We’ve had him since he was two months old so we were able to train him, he’s almost two years old now.’

‘We actually keep budgies,’ said Dean, ‘so I’m sure she’ll like that.’

‘Kay,’ Han grinned. ‘So we should finish trick or treating now. But we’ll see you tomorrow. Twelve. Okay? Twelve. In the afternoon. Not midnight. Noon. Got it?’

‘Got it,’ Dean promosed.

‘Okay, bye!’ Han chirped, already beginning to skip off to the next house.

‘Kids,’ Castiel muttered, rolling his eyes. ‘Though don’t tell her I called her that. She’ll be sixteen in May.’

‘My lips are sealed.’

‘And I’m sorry, by the way,’ Castiel offered. ‘If she forced you into anything.’

‘Not at all, really,’ Dean swore. ‘I’m happy to help and if that means painting a portrait of Han “Not Claire” Solo too then I’m happy to do it.’

‘I should catch up to her, then,’ Castiel said with a small laugh. ‘So tomorrow. I’m guessing you know the time.’

‘Uh … four? Four in the morning, was that it?’

‘No, six in the evening,’ Castiel corrected. ‘I’m certain of it.’

‘Right, so see you at nine tomorrow night.’

‘Yes. See you in twenty minutes.’

‘Nice meeting you,’ Castiel laughed again.

‘Yeah, you too,’ Dean nodded. ‘See you.’

‘See you,’ Castiel replied as he began to walk away. Looking over his shoulder, he added, ‘four tomorrow afternoon.’

‘I’ll be there at ten!’

‘It’s TWELVE!’ Dean heard Han Solo scream.

‘We’re just kidding, Han,’ Castiel assured her as he continued to walk away, giving a wave.

Dean waved back before he closed the door.


	2. The New Neighbors

‘What are we doing today daddy?’ Mary asked, twirling around as she and Dean got back from dropping Ben to school. She landed in front of him and jumped up and he caught her as he always did, picking her up and spinning her around the way she liked, to peals of laughter and a show of tiny white teeth.

‘Today, we get to go next door,’ Dean announced as they went towards the stairs, on route to the art room, which also doubled as the room they kept their budgies in. When first moving in, they’d converted the loft into an entire studio for Dean to work in, and it was the biggest room in the house. The loft had been spacious and set for boxes upon boxes of storage, and the large size of it was one of the things that contributed to them moving into this house in the first place. That, and the three bedrooms.

‘Why?’ Mary asked in response to Dean’s statement.

‘We’re helping the new neighbors paint, and I’m doing a portrait of our new neighbor’s daughter. Or at least we’ll talk about it today and see what she wants.’

‘You met the new neighbors?’ Mary asked, as they entered the art studio.

‘They came around trick or treating last night,’ Dean nodded. ‘Castiel and his daughter Claire. Claire was Han Solo, Castiel – or Cas – was a Stormtrooper. Out of uniform.’

‘Sooo … he wasn’t wearing a costume?’

‘How dare you,’ Dean scoffed, taking out the feeders in the cage and handing them to Mary to empty into the trash and refill. ‘He was very much wearing a costume. He was a Stormtrooper, but out of uniform.’

‘No costume,’ Mary decided.

‘Yeah, no costume,’ Dean gave in, as he usually tended to do. ‘But hey – you can help paint if you want. And they have a dog and a canary and Claire – or Han Solo as she was last night – said you can play with them both.’

Mary’s face lit up as she handed Dean back the refilled seed holders.

‘I like dogs,’ she said eagerly. ‘And canaries too. Are those the ones that sing?’

‘Yeah, that’s them,’ Dean agreed. ‘Cas called their canary a pigeon. That bugged Han Solo.’

‘I like pigeons,’ Mary mused. ‘And parrots. Daddy, can we get a parrot?’

‘We’ll see,’ said Dean, handing Mary the water dish. ‘You know the drill.’

Mary nodded, taking the water dish to refill at the sink they’d had installed when converting the room while Dean changed the lining of the cage. He was glad Mary seemed up for helping out the new neighbors – they both seemed nice. Claire seemed energetic and genuinely friendly, as genuinely friendly as her father, who may not have been quite as energetic as his daughter, but humored her as far as Dean saw. Those two seemed much nicer than the old neighbors, a stuck up family with three children who eventually moved because they suddenly came to the conclusion that living near others was beneath them.

Dean and Mary continued tending to the budgies and afterwards Mary spent some time chatting to them while Dean continued working on his commission from last night which he hadn’t finished; he also tried to come up with ways to convince his friend Charlie that it didn’t have to be a commission because friends didn’t have to pay, or at least he wanted to get her down to half price of less, but Charlie wouldn’t hear of it and had paid him full price for every single drawing of every single damn Doctor from Doctor Who so far no matter how much he argued against her for each one.

‘ _One_ ,’ he would plead every time, including before starting work on this one. ‘Just let me to one for free. Consider it a Halloween present.’

‘People don’t give presents on Halloween, Dean,’ Charlie scolded.

‘Christmas, then.’

‘And miss out on you trying to drop hints asking for what I want because you can’t figure out what to get me? No way. Where’s the fun in that?’

‘Well, it’s certainly more fun for _me_ ,’ Dean pointed out.

‘But not me,’ Charlie chirped, ‘so it’s a no-deal.’

The next conversation about it would probably go the same way, so Dean continued moving his blue pencil in circular motions to fill in the background and sighed softly as he thought of his stubborn friend.

Dean liked working with blue. Green, too. He had such a vast range of shades of those colors including mixes between the two, and colors like teal, or grey with a blue tint, or turquoises of various shades that could go either end of the green to blue spectrum. He’d once completed an entire drawing just using several greens, two greys, greyish blue and a black pen. That was for an illustration for someone’s book who’d discovered his website and asked for a sample piece; he was still waiting to hear back about that, and he’d even drawn an extra drawing of another character just to try and put himself ahead of the rest. That had been challenging, as he’d never drawn a person of mixed Korean and Caucasian race before, yet it turned out well and he personally found the character very pretty. He found this tiny little cartoon David Tennant pretty, too. The real David was prettier, but Charlie wanted cartoon pencil drawings so Dean delivered cartoon pencil drawings, swirling his pencil away as Mary impersonated the squawking budgies beside his desk.

The pinstriped suit was challenging. He decided to fill in the base of a lighter brown and put in the shadows and highlights and mid-tones with that one shade, then he went on with a darker brown over it, staying in tune with the highlighted, shadowed and mid-toned areas, and drawing thin darker shade stripes extremely close together all over the suit, lines in what he hoped were the right places and directions. His reference photo was on his laptop downstairs, but he’d watched enough Doctor Who to get the feel of a pinstriped suit. Ben liked ten, but Mary liked this still-newish eleven guy better. Dean thought ten was the prettiest, eleven the wackiest, but he liked nine the best. And then out of the Classic Who ones, he liked four. There was just something about Tom Baker … but Tom was very much in strong competition with Colin, because six was a close second to four.

Mary soon joined him at his desk and began to draw some flowers on a sheet of paper he gave her. She was very good at flowers for her age and was always asking for help and tips and art lessons; she had been since she was three and a half, and Dean always took time to do what she asked. But she liked drawing flowers the best because she was good at them and she could color them in pretty colors. She also liked to draw fairies and do their clothes in pretty colors, but she was always upset when something didn’t go right, the arms too long, the head too big, or the hair too much like scribbles … so she stuck to flowers when she wanted things to look nice. Besides, there were leaves and roses in what Dean was doing so they were drawing something in common.

Dean kept an eye on the time. It was funny; Dean never minded taking a break mid-project so long as he got the step he was on done, but many of his artist friends had extreme trouble with that. Ruby, his brother’s wife, who created pieces and auctioned them off at charity dinners to raise money for usually what was a weird endangered animal or something, never took breaks. Dean had known her to sit ten hours through the night with minimal snacking and bathroom breaks just to complete a piece, and if she had something to do in the middle of the day she could never work on art in the morning. Dean wasn’t like that, and he was almost done what he was doing now anyway.

The suit took less time than he thought, and Mary had half-covered her page in flowers. Dean picked up gold and then purple, another color he liked – so close to blue, so many shades – and began coloring around the circle of flowers and The Doctor jumping through them, just a loose line, thicker on one side so it was almost like he was jumping out of a shaped wormhole into another dimension, a dimension with roses. Or Rose. Maybe it was a wormhole to her universe. Who knew. Gold first, purple bordering it, thinner. Nicely, lightly around the flowers.

As Dean laid the purple down on the paper, Mary told him she was going to play with her dolls in her room for a while, so he said he’d check in on her when he was done.

Purple all the way around, a small heart, the name of the piece written in grey, and he was done, saying goodbye to the budgies, and off to see what his daughter had gotten herself up to.

Mary was playing with a variety of dolls on bedroom floor. There were some Disney princess dolls, a Barbie and a Bratz, and the Bratz was doll was mounted on her walking, barking toy dog, riding it like a really giant horse. Dean sat down on her bed near where she was on the floor, reached down to grab the leash of the dog and pressed the button to make it bark. Mary looked back at him and laughed.

‘He must be happy I’m here,’ Dean said, feigning surprise. ‘I think he likes me. What’s his name today?’

‘Fluffy,’ Mary announced. Yesterday it been Snowy, and before that Beady, and before that … uh … Cotton? That dog had a new name every day, so it was hard to remember. Sometimes the dog was even a girl.

‘It suits him,’ Dean commented. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Yasmin is a cowboy and Barbie is her girlfriend who was kidnapped by princess who think she’s pretty enough to be a princess,’ Mary said proudly, pointing at how Tiana had her arms wrapped around Barbie and Snow White was sitting on her legs.

‘And they don’t think Yasmin is pretty enough?’ Dean asked, looking offended on Yasmin’s behalf.

‘No, they do, but they’re afraid of her horse-dog,’ Mary explained. ‘Because she’s a really good cowboy. Do you know anything about cowboys? You know about a lot of things.’

‘What I know is disappointing,’ Dean told her.

‘Tell me.’

‘Fine,’ Dean replied with a dramatic sigh. ‘Cowboys … they’re not like what you see on TV. They only ruled the range for twenty years, they didn’t go off on big adventures, all they did was heard cattle. But they did have guns and if you touched another cowboy’s hat or rode his horse, that’s when they’d use them. They were pretty disappointing in comparison to the cowboy’s we’re told about.’

Mary thought for a moment. She frowned, and then she smiled.

‘All Yasmin did was herd cattle but the princesses time travelled from the future and thought she was like what people say cowboys were like so they’re afraid of her. And she’s really brave so she’s acting like what people think cowboys were like.’

‘Maybe the princesses go back to the future and talk about what Yasmin was like,’ Dean suggested. ‘But they don’t go all the way to the future – just far enough for people to start thinking that way about cowboys. And then that spreads all the way up to their own time, so nothing’s changed when they get back there in the end.’

‘YES!’ Mary exclaimed. ‘You can play if you want to you know. You can be Rapunzel because you look like her.’

‘ _I_ look like her? It’s your uncle that’s got that long, flowing hair!’

‘But your _eyes_ ,’ Mary explained. ‘And your freckles.’

‘Ah,’ Dean nodded. ‘That explains it. Right, well, let me get down there then you can give me the doll.’

Mary grinned and snatched the doll up, ready to give to Dean as soon as he got himself onto the floor beside her.  

They played for a good half hour and in the end Yasmin rescued Barbie and they rode off together on Fluffy. The princesses sulked while skulking off and when Yasmin and Barbie reached their destination  on Fluffy (the toy box) they kissed and hopped in together, in each others’ arms even when the game ended and they were no longer together, and then Dean and Mary headed downstairs so Dean could do some housework and Mary could watch some TV until noon, when it was time to leave.

Dean threw on an old black t-shirt and some old jeans he wore when painting for work. Mary wore a tie-dye t-shirt and jeans that she wore when painting pictures; they weren’t sure how much of the pattern was actually the original tie-dye pattern, and how much of it was paint splatters.

They left at two minutes to noon. Mary skipped along at Dean’s side as they went next door, right up to the door where Dean knocked, seeing that the doorbell was hanging off, a new one probably yet to be installed. They waited outside a moment before loud footsteps sounded, loud and _fast_ , and then the door was pulled open and there was Claire.

‘Hey,’ Dean greeted. ‘You must be Han Solo’s identical twin sister.’

‘Claire,’ said Claire.

‘Good to meet you, Claire,’ Dean replied. ‘And this is Mary. My daughter.’ 

There were some light footsteps, and a poodle was suddenly barking at Claire’s side.

‘This is Snowball,’ said Claire. ‘ _My_ daughter.’

‘Your daughter is prettier than me,’ Mary pouted.

‘No she’s not,’ Claire told her, ‘you’re _super_ pretty. Snowball is harrier than you, though, that could be it. I love your outfit – come in, guys.’

‘Can I pet your dog daughter?’ Mary asked as she and Dean stepped over the threshold.

‘Go ahead,’ Claire encouraged, so Mary reached out towards the dog who sniffed at her curiously. ‘Hold on a sec, dad and I were just painting upstairs. I’ll go get him. YO, DAD!’

She screamed the last words in the direction of the stairs and Dean couldn’t help but laugh. Ben had done that a lot, when asked by Lisa to go get Dean or vise versa. It was a pretty effective way of doing things.

‘Coffee? Tea? Anything else we have?’ Claire offered.

‘Coffee?’ Dean asked.

‘Follow me.’

‘Do you have juice?’ Mary added.

‘Apple or orange?’

‘Apple.’

‘Got it.’ Then, ‘DAD! KITCHEN!’

‘I’M COMING!’

‘He’s coming.’

‘I heard,’ Dean commented. He looked down at Mary, who was giggling silently as she patted the dog’s back, the dog following Claire around obediently like a duckling following its mother as it waddled around the pond.

‘We were painting my bedroom,’ Claire explained, which was evident by her speckled clothing, as she poured some apple juice into a cup and gave it to Mary, who thanked her, walking over to the table Claire gestured for her to sit at, Dean following the same gesture. ‘Green and silver. Slytherin. You know what that is, right?’

‘Slytherin, huh?’ Dean challenged. ‘Oh, I know what that is. And we may have dressed up as Gryffindors last year, but mine is a family of Hufflepuffs.’

‘Dad’s a Hufflepuff,’ Claire commented. ‘So’s my mom, according to me. But that Hufflepuff preferred someone I’d call a Ravenclaw … an unusual combination of houses, but not unheard of.’

‘Ravenpuff,’ said Mary.

‘Exactly,’ Claire agreed.

‘Who’s a Ravennpuff?’ asked Castiel, entering the room in a short-sleeved shirt with some green on it and some silver paint on his upper arm.

Dean looked at Cas as he entered and had to blink a few times after taking in the paint on his bicep. Dude had nice arms. Dean applauded that.

‘Mom and Anna,’ Claire answered.

‘Anna’s a Gryffindor,’ said Cas.

‘Yeah, I thought so too, but then I looked more closely and changed my mind,’ Claire reasoned. ‘With her hair she’d fit right in with the Weasleys, but it just wasn’t meant to be. I also considered Slytherin, but she’s not really cunning. And with Gryffindor sure she’s all brave and chivalrous and whatever but she went to Yale and now she’s a university lecturer, soo …’

‘I’m a teacher,’ Castiel pointed out, new information for Dean. ‘Are you saying that Ravenclaws make better teachers than Hufflepuffs?’

‘No,’ Claire stated, ‘but you can’t compare the two houses. They have very different traits. And I’m the expert, so I declare Anna is in Ravenclaw. Besides, you put everyone in Gryffindor.’

‘That’s not true,’ Castiel corrected, ‘I put that guy we met at the grocery store the other week in Slytherin.’

‘Only because you didn’t like him and you said he was evil.’

‘So?’

‘That’s stereotyping.’

‘So? Voldemort. Snape. The Malfoys. Most Death Eaters.’

‘Stop generalizing Slytherins!’

‘You’re evil, and you’re in Slytherin.’

‘I wanna go live with mom.’

‘Pack your bags.’

‘I hate packing.’

‘Well, I’m not going to help you.’

‘Well then I’ll stay here,’ Claire decided. ‘So,’ she moved on, pouring some coffee from the pot she brewed into a mug to take over to Dean, which she did with a smile and a ‘there you go. You don’t put houses into boxes, do you?’

‘You mean good guys, bad guys, smart and dumb?’ Dean asked. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’

‘Well, I’m not as into it as she is,’ Castiel defended himself. ‘So I only know the basic things like that. She’s the expert. I just know enough to keep up. Hi, by the way. This must be your daughter.’

‘I’m Mary,’ Mary said proudly, sticking out her hand. ‘And you’re Castiel, my daddy told me. But he said you said “call me Cas” so can I do that too?’

‘Of course you can,’ Castiel replied sincerely, shaking the tiny hand presented to him.

‘Okay, Cas. I like your eyes. They look like the blue my daddy was doing on his art today. Except _bluer_.’

‘Well thank you, Mary,’ Castiel grinned. ‘I like _your_ eyes. They look like the green Claire and I were painting but _greener_.’

Mary smiled toothily and took a sip of her apple juice.

‘Blue and green,’ Mary said thoughtfully. ‘That’s like when the sea is green and the sky is blue. You know how the sea is kind of green sometimes instead of blue. Pretty.’

‘That _is_ pretty,’ Castiel agreed with a nod.

‘Thanks for inspiring the next thing I’m going to draw,’ Dean told Mary, thinking about the possibilities. It wouldn’t be a particularly big project; perhaps in his pencil drawing sketch book. He liked working with colored pencils and had once declared himself “a slut for Prismacolor pencils” amoung art friends who laughed at the weird statement, but he also liked working with paint. Then again, with paint he preferred a larger canvas. But there were also copics … which he preferred to keep out of his favorite sketch book, which he used mainly for colored pencil drawings. But then there was –

Okay. He had to stop.

‘You’re welcome,’ Mary said happily, swinging her legs.

‘Coffee me, Slytherin,’ said Cas, turning to Claire, as he slid into the chair across from Dean and Mary.

‘Yes, sir,’ Claire curtseyed, bringing over a cup and filling it on the way to the table. She placed it down and then filled her own, taking it over to the island in the center of the kitchen, putting it down on it and then hopping up to sit next to it.

‘Comfortable?’ Castiel asked sarcastically.

‘I could use a cushion,’ Claire replied.

‘Want a cushion? Sit on a chair.’

‘I’m fine without a cushion,’ Claire shrugged.

Castiel rolled his eyes. Mary pressed her hand over her mouth to stop herself from giggling. Dean was feeling pretty amused himself.

‘Anyway,’ said Cas, ignoring Claire and turning to Dean, ‘we’ve been painting all morning and we only have two walls done. _Someone_ managed to weasel her way into the biggest bedroom. So we could really use the help. I say we, when it’s really me doing all the work while said someone sits on her mattress on her laptop gazing at all the furniture she had me order while waiting for it to arrive.’

‘It’s pretty,’ Claire defended herself.

‘You know what’s not pretty?’

‘Your face in the morning?’

‘Making your father do all of the manual labor.’

‘You’re painting. You’re not trying to pivot a couch up a narrow staircase in an apartment building. Calm down.’

‘Anyway,’ Castiel repeated more loudly than the first time, ‘what I’m saying is, thank you for your offer last night. I appreciate it. And this time I say _I_ because what’s the point in saying we? It makes no difference to her. She’s not doing anything anyway.’

‘Am so,’ Claire protested.

‘Looking at furniture and trying to shop online for giant Slytherin stickers is not doing something.’

‘Technically it’s doing _something_ , it’s just not doing anything you find productive. But it’s not productive for me either, I can’t find any stickers bigger than like, a crest on a sweater! I want to have the Slytherin crest on one of the walls, see,’ Claire added, so Dean could keep up.

‘Why not just paint it on?’ Dean suggested.

‘Because we’re both pitifully untalented.’

‘Hey,’ said Cas, this time it being his turn to protested, ‘speak for yourself. My stick figures are museum worthy and I could easily paint on that crest. It’s basically just a giant “S” shape with eyes for a snake, right?’

‘Untalented,’ Claire sighed dramatically. ‘So untalented.’

‘My daddy could do that,’ Mary offered on Dean’s behalf.

Dean raised his eyebrows.

‘I could,’ he nodded, agreeing with her.

‘Seriously?’ Claire asked.

‘If you want,’ Dean shrugged. ‘That’s what I’m here for, right? To paint?’

‘And to talk to me about a portrait,’ Claire reminded him. ‘I’m torn between like, an oil painting, or a black and white sketch. We’ll talk, okay?’

‘Okay,’ Dean promised, laughing.

‘You don’t have to paint on the Slytherin crest,’ Castiel told Dean, raising his eyebrows at Claire. ‘Really, it’s fine. She doesn’t need it.’

‘No, really, I don’t mind,’ Dean swore. ‘I’m here to help. I’ve decorated half the walls in this neighborhood with all kinds of patterns. Lady across the road? Bluebirds and flowers talks by her bedroom door. Guy on the corner? Recreated “Starry Night” by Van Gough on his teenage son’s bedroom ceiling while laying down Michael Angelo painting the Sistine Chapel style. It’s no trouble.’

‘But those people usually pay you,’ Castiel stated. ‘Am I wrong?’

‘You’re not wrong,’ Dean reasoned, ‘but you’re not right, either. One guy who’s doors I decorated works at a clothing store and he got me a fifty percent discount for a month. Bluebirds lady baked me a pie. Ceiling guy paid me but y’know, that was a big project. And other people gave me other things.’

‘But you’re not just doing that one crest thing,’ Castiel pointed out, ‘you’re helping paint the entire house and then you’re doing a portrait for Claire if she gets her way. I have to give you _something_.’

‘Buy me a beer once you’re settled in,’ Dean suggested. ‘That’s what the woman on the opposite corner to ceiling guy did. Sound fair?’

‘No,’ Castiel replied.

‘Great, then we have a deal,’ Dean replied, nodding approvingly.

‘I can’t bake, but for the portrait I’ll _buy_ you a pie,’ Claire offered.

‘Pecan,’ said Dean. ‘Bakery two blocks away. Three dollars.’

‘It’s yours once you deliver on the portrait,’ Claire breamed. ‘And for the Slytherin crest, I’ll throw in a can of whipped cream or something.’

‘Whipped cream is a quarter extra,’ Dean informed her.

‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

‘Can I help paint?’ Mary asked. ‘You don’t have to give me anything. I just like painting.’

‘You and me can start painting the spare room if you want,’ Claire offered. ‘It’s not as big so there’s not as much work to do. You can do all the low bits and I’ll do the middle bits and leave the high bits for those two.’

‘Yes!’ Claire nodded eagerly. ‘Daddy? Can I?’

‘Try not to get as much paint in your hair as you did when we were repainting your brother’s room,’ Dean requested.

Mary, who always kept a fluffy hair tie on her wrist, began pulling her hair back into a messy yet secure ponytail. Dean laughed.

‘Good call,’ Claire told her.

‘Alright,’ Dean approved, ‘you can.’

Mary grinned proudly, something she did quite often. She was always proud of her smallest achievements.

‘Then it’s settled,’ Castiel grinned at all of the parties in the room, a happy, relaxed sort of grin. ‘Will we get started?’

Dean drank the last few sips of his coffee and nodded. Mary had already finished her apple juice, and Cas his coffee. Claire took the rest of hers with her as she skipped out of the room, Snowball and Mary following her; two ducklings now instead of just one.

It was odd to be inside this house; Dean had never been in it before with previous neighbors. But it was like a mirror image of his own. The stairs were on the opposite side, the rooms on the opposite side, the walls all backwards. Everything was bare as they went along and the walls were a weird, murky brown with paint sample stripes on them here and there. Claire and her two ducklings went along to the smallest bedroom while Dean and Cas veered for the largest, two walls completely painted and the beginnings of a third. There was a mattress in the middle of the room, set up like a bed, with a laptop on it and plugged into the wall. There were some boxes bordering the mattress, and a plastic sheet to cover it that was pulled back.

‘As you can probably tell, we’re a mess right now,’ said Cas, grabbing a paint roller and gesturing the other one for Dean to pick up and dip in the green. ‘Boxes in the living room and the garage and my room. And Claire has no furniture because she wanted all new things. And once we get it in we’ll have to get it out again, because the new carpets don’t get fitted until tomorrow.’

‘Sounds like you’re renovating this place completely,’ Dean commented.

‘All that stays are the tiles in the kitchen and bathrooms and the wooden floors downstairs. Everything upstairs is being recarpeted, everything’s being painted, and my bedroom is currently more cluttered than a hoarder’s closet because of the boxes. And all of that is going to have to be moved out tomorrow probably, when the paint in here is dry and Claire and I swap situations to paint my room.’

‘Yikes,’ Dean muttered. ‘Moving can be tough. We were the same when we first moved here.’

‘How long ago was that?’ Castiel asked.

‘About thirteen years ago,’ Dean replied, looking over at Cas as they painted side by side. ‘It was just after me and my wife got married. My late wife,’ he corrected himself.

‘I’m sorry,’ Castiel replied, catching the addition. ‘May I ask how long …?’

‘Almost a year ago,’ Dean answered. ‘Car accident. But we’re good, we’re coping.’

A year? Had it really been that long? In some ways it seemed like it had just been a day ago. In others, a decade.

‘And I thought I had it rough,’ Castiel said quietly. When Dean looked at him quizzically he replied, ‘divorced, two years ago. She left me for my sister.’

‘No way.’

‘Yes, way. But I don’t resent her for it. Things were rough for a while before that anyway, for both of us. It’s complicated.’

‘These things usually are,’ Dean agreed. ‘My brother got divorced once after only two years of being married. Married again last year. The guy couldn’t stand being married to another lawyer, so he married an artist. I like this sister in law better than the last. More to talk about.’

‘I’ll bet,’ Castiel said with a smallish laugh. ‘How did you get into art, anyway?’

‘I sucked at math when I was in middle school, but art was always right after math my first year there, so I’d start practicing whatever we were doing that day early, or practice last art lesson’s thing, because it was easier and I liked it better than math. Then I started practicing more, in other classes, at lunch, at home … I’d only taken art in the first place because my friend did, but you never know what’s gonna happen. Ironically, she sucked at art but was great at math.’

‘So you guys helped each other out?’ Castiel assumed.

‘We tried, but we both still sucked,’ Dean laughed, a small laugh. ‘So Claire said you’re a teacher, right? What do you teach?’

‘English,’ Castiel replied. ‘I moved here because I got a new job, actually. I used to teach it to middle schoolers but I’ve always wanted a job in a high school and I got one here. Poor Claire, because now she has to see me at home _and_ at school.’

‘What an awful punishment,’ Dean said with a dramatic sigh. ‘To have to see such a nice, friendly guy in _two places_. I really feel for her.’

Castiel laughed; he had such a nice laugh, it sounded so genuine and happy and his eyes lit up when it sounded, or even when he smiled. It had been a long time since Dean had seen someone laugh like that, so … so … just so damn _nice_.  When someone had a nice laugh like that, it automatically made Dean like them a lot more. Sure, people who laughed an average laugh had a strong likability factor, but Dean’s laugh was a strong one too, and to find someone else like that always excited him a little.

Dean liked to laugh. It had been a while since he had.

‘You’re just saying that because you’re hoping I’ll pay you more than a beer,’ Castiel teased.

‘Oh no, you caught me,’ Dean replied, ‘alright, fine. Maybe I’m hoping you’ll buy me two.’

‘Two it is,’ Castiel agreed. ‘Damn you, Dean. Damn you! And it’d be easier to damn you if I knew your last name.’

‘Oh, yeah, right,’ said Dean with a chuckle. ‘It’s Winchester. And yours is … not Solo, I presume, even though your kid is Han Solo.’

‘Novak,’ Castiel replied. ‘Unfortunately, I’m not lucky enough to be related to the real Han Solo.’

‘Darn it,’ Dean sighed, ‘I was hoping you could get me an autograph. I should’ve asked for one last night. Claire looks exactly like Han, they must be close – do you think she could get me one?’

‘Oh, I bet she could,’ Castiel laughed. ‘She can get pretty much anything on that laptop of hers. Although I’m not sure how legal it is. A lot of downloaded movies and music if you catch my drift.’

‘My son’s the same,’ Dean replied with a roll of his eyes. ‘The last Harry Potter movie came out this year. Two days later, he had it on low quality DVD.’

‘It’s a good thing neither of us are cops.’

‘Cops don’t care,’ Dean shrugged, ‘I know a few. There’s this one I know in Sioux Falls – she’s one of two old family friends who live there – and half of her movies she gets illegally.’

‘I don’t know her, but I like her,’ Castiel decided.

‘Anyone would,’ Dean agreed.

‘So, Winchester,’ Castiel said thoughtfully, segwaying into another topic easily, ‘you’re not the first Winchester I’ve met.’

‘No?’

‘No. My sister has a friend who married this guy, Sam Winchester. Really, really tall. I don’t mean like normal tall. I mean like … _tall_ tall.’

‘ _Sam_ Winchester?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Your sister,’ said Dean, ‘red hair, late twenties, kinda pale?’

‘That’s Anna,’ Castiel confirmed. ‘You’re kidding. You know her?’

‘I met her at this event thing in September,’ Dean nodded. ‘Ruby – Sam’s wife, you probably know that – she was auctioning off some stuff for charity like she does, and she invited me and I was free so I went. Spend some time hanging out with family who were there, you know. And she came over to talk to Ruby when I was talking to her and Sam. I didn’t catch her name, but she seemed to know Ruby.’

‘I met Sam when I went to talk to Anna,’ Castiel stated. ‘She was talking to Ruby. And Sam. And another man had just walked away. Was that you?’

‘Probably. September eighteenth?’

‘Yeah, September eighteenth.’

‘Woah,’ Dean breathed, a sigh of elation. ‘Small world, man. Small world.’

Castiel made a noise of agreement as he finished his last patch of wall. They moved on towards the next wall, and Cas cracked open the can of silver again, grabbing the other rollers he and Claire had been using for the silver paint.

‘Three beers,’ Castiel decided, in honor of their connection, ‘and maybe a bag of chips. Friday night? Claire’s going to her mom’s this weekend.’

‘And Mrs Graham owes me a night of babysitting for painting that sun above her bed. Friday night it is.’

They shook on it, and then got back to painting.

They talked some more about this and that; Dean found out that Claire lived with Cas because she chose to do so. The two had always had a strong bond, and when her mom – Amelia, Dean found out – first left Claire had been upset with her and hadn’t wanted to live with her mom and her aunt, and even when she calmed down she hadn’t wanted to live with them, so now she went every second weekend and went for evening visits twice a week on the weeks she didn’t go for weekend visits. The move here had actually shaven a half hour off of the drive out there, which was convenient for them.

It turned out that the reason Claire had managed to convince Cas to get her an entire new set of bedroom things to go in the new bedroom was because of  how she wanted to design it; her new room was bigger than her old one and that excited her, so Cas had given in like he did to most things with Claire an so the new stuff was on its way that evening. Dean offered to help move it back out tomorrow for the new carpet coming. Castiel was very grateful for that.

Tomorrow, Dean would also be helping with moving the stuff out of Cas’s room to paint, and for the carpet fitting, and then back in afterwards, and he offered to keep some of the stuff in his garage if they needed extra space.

‘I’ve never been more glad to have met someone like you,’ Castiel gushed gratefully. ‘I honestly don’t know what I would have done tomorrow without your offer. Three beers, a bag of chips add a bowl of peanuts.’

‘That, and you have to be my wingman if there’s anyone at the bar I like,’ Dean requested; he’d recently dabbled in the world of dating again and so far it hadn’t gone so well, but it was impossible to know what would come next or who he might meet. ‘You never know when there’s gonna be a pretty girl you want to chat up. Or, y’know, guy. Whatever.’

‘Whatever,’ Castiel agreed, giving Dean a searching look that made Dean’s chest tighten, and he really hoped Cas wasn’t one of those people who would freak out at the casual revelation that Dean played for both teams. ‘Maybe there’ll be some better guys around here than in the place with the last one I dated. He was British and weird and had mommy issues. He actually went out to a bar with his mother and she kept calling him Fergus and he kept insisting his name was Crowley. I managed to overlook that … for about two weeks.’

‘So _that’s_ why you moved,’ Dean gasped. ‘To get away from the weird British guy with mommy issues.’

‘Oh no, you caught me.’

‘There’s always an ulterior motive, man. Always.’

Inside, Dean did a little victory dance. That searching look hadn’t been because he was suddenly wary. It had been because he’d found someone else who didn’t just bat for the team with the boobs. So his wife leaving him for his sister hadn’t put any bad impressions or opinions in his head or anything. Good. Good.

It was a little after one when they finished Claire’s room and decided to call on the girls for lunch; there wasn’t much to make, Cas had admitted, but there was lots of stuff for sandwiches. Or cereal. Or leftover pizza from last night. Or candy. But they’d agreed sandwiches sounded like the safest bet.

When Mary emerged from painting, her tie dye outfit had a nice few cream colored specks. And so had her face. Claire wasn’t as speckled, but had drawn on a cat nose and whiskers in cream paint. The perfect white poodle was completely untouched. All Cas had to say about Claire’s new look was some pointing and laughing while she smiled at him as if oblivious.

‘Is my room almost done yet?’ Claire asked as the group descended the stairs.

‘Done,’ Cas replied. ‘And the spare room?’

‘Less than one wall. But we got distracted making Snowball do tricks.’

‘And did you get distracted doing anything else?’ Castiel challenged, looking at her suspiciously once they reached solid ground again.

‘I have you idea what you’re talking about,’ Claire replied, lightly resting her fingers on her face right by her whiskers.

‘Okay, kitty cat,’ said Cas, rolling his eyes.

‘Meow,’ Claire grinned.

‘Having fun?’ Dean asked Mary.

‘Yes!’ Mary nodded, jumping once as she walked to the kitchen. ‘I painted a whole bottom corner of a wall. The roller is big and I can do it anyway. Because I’m strong. But I like the brush better.’

‘Of course you are,’ Dean agreed. ‘Remember the other day when you lifted me? You’re even stronger than I am.’

‘Yes, I am!’

‘How did she lift you?’ Claire asked.

‘Because she’s strong,’ Dean answered, then leaning in closer he muttered, ‘we were right up against the counter, I put my hands on it and pushed myself up. The trick works every time.’

‘So strong,’ Claire agreed, trying not to laugh at the genius of the trick.

They reached the kitchen, and Claire volunteered to make the sandwiches and she took everyone’s order like a waitress in a diner would and got about to the making. As she worked, Dean and Cas shared their discovery of their previous almost-meeting, and their plan for Friday night. Dean asked Mary if she was okay with it and she said she was excited for Mrs Graham to come babysit, because she always brought pictures of her cats, at which Claire meowed loudly making everyone laugh and Snowball bark.

So Claire got on her knees and meowed right in Snowball’s face.

Snowball licked Claire’s nose and then backed away, apparently not a fan of the taste of paint, so Claire jumped back up and got back to making sandwiches and ore coffee and apple juice.

It was over lunch that Dean and Claire began to discuss her portrait.

‘I still can’t decide between a painting or a sketch,’ she complained. ‘Is there such thing as an in color sketch? Because that seems like a good compromise.’

‘There’s colored pencils,’ Dean offered.

‘That’s a contender,’ Claire nodded. ‘But I was also thinking about like … that chalk stuff?’

‘Pastels?’

‘Yeah, that. I can’t decide. It’s too hard. All I know is that I want it to feature my bird and my hair and maybe some flowers. I’ve already been practicing my pose. Do I have to sit for it for a long time? Because I want to sit for it, but not for too long.’

Dean was really, really trying hard not to laugh at her ironies. He could see that Cas next to Claire was failing at that.

‘You can sit for the basic outline,’ Dean suggested, ‘then I can take a picture or something to work from. How’s that sound?’

‘Okay, yeah,’ Claire nodded. ‘So. Paint, pencils, pastels. Decisions, decisions.’

‘If you want you can come over and check out some of my stuff to help you decide. I do a lot of things in a lot of styles. In fact, later tonight I was planning on getting started on this sabre tooth tiger made completely out of glitter which is a new thing but a whole other style. So there’s a lot of choice to choose from.’

‘How do you make something completely out of _glitter_?’

‘It’s … complicated. Lots of mixing colors. Glue. Drying. Layering …’

‘Can I watch?’ Claire asked hopefully. ‘I won’t get in the way or anything. I like watching people do art.’

‘Come on, Claire,’ Castiel reasoned. ‘You just met the guy and you’re already bombarding him.’

Claire pouted at Cas. Dean smiled, breathing out a breathy sigh of laughter.

‘You’re welcome to watch any time,’ Dean told her sincerely. ‘In fact, you’re not the first to ask. Someone in the neighborhood who went off to art school last year used to come by and watch all the time for tips and entertainment and whatever.’

‘Okay. So when can I come check out your stuff?’

‘After lunch?’ Dean suggested. ‘Before we get back to painting?’

‘Sure,’ Claire grinned, agreeing. ‘We were gonna take a longer break from painting anyway. I wanted to show Mary my canary. His name is Beep.’

‘Because he cheaps and it sounds like beeping!’ Mary added helpfully, relaying what she’d learned. ‘And I told Claire I’d show her our budgies. Can I do that while she’s over looking at your work?’

‘Of course,’ Dean nodded.

‘And I’ll suffer and paint in silence,’ Castiel said with a dramatic sigh. ‘Just kidding. I’ll wash up these plates and mugs and get back to painting without suffering.’

‘No, dad, you should come too,’ Claire urged. ‘You like art, right?’

‘I don’t _not_ like it,’ Cas replied reasonably.

‘You should both come,’ Mary added. ‘We had lunch here. We could have dinner at our house and you could meet my brother too! He would like both of you!’

Castiel glanced at Dean. It was his call. Claire looked between the other three people in the room, looking chirpy and excited.

‘I’m told I’m a pretty good cook ad that I always make too much,’ Dean offered after a moment. ‘So you’re both welcome to come. Say six o’clock?’

‘I’ll be there,’ Claire stated.

‘So will I,’ added Cas.

‘Yay!’ Mary exclaimed. ‘So not after lunch. Tonight. Good.’

‘Food suggestions are welcome,’ said Dean.

‘Anything’s better than the cold pizza we were planning to eat,’ Castiel joked.

‘Can I watch you cook, too?’ Claire asked, fluttering her eyelashes. ‘Pretty please? I’m taking a cooking class at school, and an art one, and you’re like the most perfect thing to ever happen to me because of that. But it’s totally okay if you say no.’

Claire was very forward. Dean admired that, and of course was happy to oblige someone so friendly and energetic.

‘Be there at five,’ Dean told her, ‘and you better give me a few suggestions now so I know what we’re having.’

‘Come see my bird while the old man does the dishes and I’ll give you suggestions then,’ Claire announced, getting to her feet and bringing her empty cup and clean plate over to the sink. ‘He’s had you for over an hour. It’s my turn to scope out the neighbor.’

‘He’s not an object you can pass around, Claire,’ Castiel disapproved.

‘I don’t mind,’ said Dean. ‘Honestly.’

‘It’s your funeral,’ Castiel muttered, tittering to himself.

‘I think I’ll survive,’ Dean said with a dramatic sigh, as he stood up. ‘But if I don’t, you’ll be the first to know. Mind telling my family? You already know Sam.’

‘I’ll deliver each message personally,’ Castiel swore, as Dean and Mary and of course, Snowball, followed Claire out.

Three ducklings now.

Claire started listing things off as soon as they left the room, and telling Dean in detail how she made each of those, and how she wanted to be better than the other students in her school and show off. She figured, if she cooked the same few dishes enough, she’d have enough smarts on cooking in general to pass on to other recipes and dishes and aspects of the entire cooking thing. It made sense to Dean, that’s how he’d learned, back when he first got married and neither he nor Lisa knew a thing about cooking so they went to classes together and quit after two because they were stupid and annoying, but they kept working the way Claire was describing and now Dean could make pretty much anything.

She finished listing when she closed the door of a cage and turned around with a canary on her finger. It was a greenish bird, with blue on its head and hints of brown in its wings. Mary’s eyes grew wide at the tiny creature sitting obediently on Claire’s finger, and Claire got on her knees so Mary could pet the bird’s head.

‘So, basically you’re saying that you need practice boiling, frying and mixing things right about now,’ Dean listed back at Claire after she’d listed them at him.

‘Chopping, too,’ Claire told him. ‘I’m afraid I’ll cut off my fingers if I try chopping the way they do on TV. And I can’t cut onions at all. They always fall apart.’

‘How about spaghetti with mince and homemade sauce?’ Dean suggested. ‘You’ve got boiling, frying, mixing, chopping, that kind of thing. Pretty simple if you know how to do it right.’

‘I _love_ that idea,’ Claire nodded eagerly, paused to murmur to the bird as she tried to get it to stand on Mary’s shoulder, then looked back up at Dean. ‘I had this friend once who always used to boast that she could make that. We were like, nine. And then she did one day and brought it into school for everyone to try and we heated it up and it turned out it sucked. I’d like to learn to make it in a way that it _doesn’t_ suck.’

‘As I said,’ Dean grinned at her, ‘Be there at five. You can watch, maybe I’ll even let you help out if it’s okay with my usual helpers.’

‘It’s okay,’ Mary confirmed.

‘I’ll bring an apron,’ Claire decided. ‘Wanna stroke the bird? He’s super soft.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ Dean nodded, reaching out towards the bird on Mary’s shoulder. ‘He’s a lot smaller than our budgies, but he seems just as friendly.’

‘He is,’ Claire assured him. ‘He’s weird that way. Canaries aren’t usually so into bonding, but he is.’

‘I think he likes me,’ said Mary, who still had the bird perched on her shoulder as Dean stroked it.

‘He probably does,’ Claire agreed.

‘Ours would like you,’ Mary told Claire. ‘Wouldn’t they, daddy?’

‘For sure,’ Dean agreed.

‘Hey, you guys done with the bird?’ came Cas’s voice calling just before he entered the room. ‘We’ve got more work to do.’

‘Dinner plans are arranged, so I’m ready,’ Dean declared, striding forward after giving the bird a last stroke.

‘We’ll get back to what we were doing, too,’ Claire decided, picking the bird up from Mary’s shoulder and transferring it to Snowball’s head. When the bird settled there, it made Mary laugh, as most things did.

As they left the room, Mary briefly hugged Dean’s leg, which was usually a sign that she was happy and enjoying herself. Dean chuckled and ruffled her already messy hair.

‘Yeah,’ he told her quietly, ‘I like the new neighbors, too.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The canary is based on my friend's canary, Sir Misha Jaremi Roy Padackles. She (the owner, not the canary) also happens to be the artist behind The Tenth Doctor on the swing. 
> 
> Canary credit also goes to my brother, who had a well trained canary called Beep. But the color and size of the canary in this all comes from the friend, not the brother.
> 
> The artistic opinions of Dean are based on those of my artist brother in law. Dude loves green and blue because he and his husband have green and blue eyes. And HE'S the one who declared himself "a slut for Prismacolor" and he's also in love with purple. And David Tennant.
> 
> The dog is Kathryn Newton's dog. 
> 
> Mary is based on my youngest (so far, her sister is born next month) niece. 
> 
> The fangirly tendencies of Dean, Cas and their respective families are based on pretty much every member of my family. Specifically my brother and his brother in law. Because to me, they're Dean and Cas, okay? Their last name is frickin' Winchester. Sadly, neither of their names are Dean or Castiel. 
> 
> The opinions on the various Doctors are as follows:  
> Dean's - my brother in law, the one I use as inspiration for Dean  
> Ben's: - my husband  
> Mary's - my other brother in law
> 
> Lastly, Hogwarts houses of the characters were chosen by my brother in law. Yeah, the Dean one. 
> 
> Okay, I'll shut up with giving credit now.


	3. Twist of Fate

Shopping was one thing Dean didn’t have to worry about after painting for much of the day since he already had everything he’d need to cook later. The painting was far from finished, but they’d be continuing without him and he’d already offered to help for as long as it took because, well, why not? He didn’t have much to do since was ahead on work and usually he’d just spend that spare time working on a piece in his sketch book (he had to remind himself to draw another copy of one of those pieces he’d drawn that was inspired by one of Mary’s latest obsessions; she wanted one to hang in her room) or rather, one of his many sketch books.

He’d filled up his last two so he’d gone out and bought four new ones, two relatively small, one medium and one tiny one. He’d also decorated the fronts of two of them, one with a random redheaded girl with poofy sleeves and big eyes, the other with a rose with ten leaves and four thorns and some white dots, after which his friend Charlie had taken it from him and wrote in some fancy (yet crooked) script “Every Rose has its Ten” and crossed out the ten and added a smaller word, “thorn.” Charlie was very obsessed with all things nerdy from shows to books to movies to comics. So naturally she made a damn rose about Doctor Who.

The first page in his rose-covered sketch book had an incomplete drawing of a character from a book written by an author he sometimes illustrated for. He liked the character and liked how pretty she was and he liked the concept of the story, too. It was a non-typical love story between a human and a supernatural creature, a little cliché, but the non-typical part was the fact that the love story was between a girl and a transgender girl, which was a nice idea. You didn’t see many books like that around. Dean had done some work for the author on another book that was close to completion which was the start of a series and overlapped the cliché non-typical love story, the characters being from the same world or something. One of his favorite parts of being an artist was getting to illustrate for authors and hear them ramble about their work proudly.

He’d also started on the first page of the tiny sketch book one afternoon while having lunch alone. It was a Saturday and his mom had been visiting and had wanted to take the kids out for a few hours, so he’d had some time to shop for art supplies and take a quick break. He had less of this sketch than he had of Cedric Knight (the transgirl who’d kept her name – and of that drawing he had the line art but no color.) The sketch he’d worked on over lunch was a simple sketch of these two guys from a story he’d once read, casually kissing, one of them grabbing the other by the lapels. Although Dean had always hated doing hands so he had yet to draw in those hands and that lapel-grabbing.

Dean … tended to draw a lot of stuff like that when he was bored. Random doodles and sketches of stuff he wasn’t likely to put on display. He just … liked to see it _somewhere_ if he wasn’t going to see it represented in the media or even much in public. As a bisexual person himself (something he was often wary of talking about, although his nice new neighbor thankfully hadn’t had any comments on it) he wanted to draw the change he wanted to see in the world.

And then he wanted to draw mermaids for his daughter and dragons for his son – another thing he had to get to – and his dragons he could sneak in a few personal little details, like making them the colors of different pride flags. And Ben had literally asked for “a rainbow dragon” and hadn’t specified anything else, so what was to stop Dean from drawing three dragons in the sky and another sitting on the ground, all of them in bright and vibrant pride colors?

The best thing about drawing for his kids was that there was no rush, because they understood he had other work to do. His next project, after the glittery one he’d already planned to start tonight, would be Claire’s portrait, then he’d copy the mermaid and get started on the dragons, then he’d go through his work email to look for jobs he was interested in. He got many requests, but he didn’t necessarily do all of them. He had neither time nor interest in that. Sometimes he picked several small ones he found intriguing, others he picked the ones that he knew he’d enjoy creating, and if a big project was staring at him out of his inbox that paid well and would take a lot of challenging detail, who was he to say no to that? Dean always considered himself lucky he was able to make it as an artist while supporting his family and still being able to get picky sometimes with what he worked on. Not many were so lucky.

When Dean picked up Ben from school, before Dean could even open his mouth Mary had launched into telling him all about their day and their new neighbors and Claire and the dog and Claire and the canary and Claire and Cas and Claire and Claire and she just really really liked Claire because she was pretty and blonde and just like Mary wanted to be when she was older. When she told Ben about them coming over for dinner Dean managed to squeeze in a ‘you okay with that?’ to be considerate and Ben responded with a ‘yeah, sure,’ and a nod as they made their way to Dean’s Impala.

‘They sound a lot nicer than the old ones,’ Ben commented in the car once Mary stopped talking about how nice the neighbors were. ‘I swear one of the old ones hissed at me once.’

‘It wouldn’t surprise me,’ Dean said darkly, reclaiming the unfortunate times he’d come face to face with their Royal Smugnesses. ‘No. These two are much better. And they know your uncle.’

‘How?’

‘Cas’s sister is friends with Ruby. And are you sure you’re okay with me going out Friday?’

Something Mary had been generous enough to add on, too.

‘I’ll send my invites out for the party,’ Ben grinned at him.

‘No more than two kegs,’ Dean warned. ‘And use coasters.’

‘Music recommendations?’

‘The usual AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, maybe a little Rick Springfield. Throw in a few cheesy flashmob-worthy songs you only hear at weddings and birthday parties for middle-aged people.’

‘Karma Chameleon?’

‘Naturally.’

‘Cotton Eyed Joe?’

‘Work on your first pump first.’

‘The Harry Potter soundtrack?’

‘Nah. Try Star Wars. Carry around a speaker and blast The Imperial March whenever you walk into a room, it shows people not to mess with you and that if you catch them not using a coaster you’ll mess them up.’

‘Okay, cool. So I’ll be in my room playing video games all night, then?’

‘Not past eleven.’

‘Oh come on, dad …’

‘Not past eleven, but you can order pizza.’

‘Deal.’

‘And I’ll watch Snow White and draw flowers,’ Mary decided proudly.

‘Snow White?’ Dean asked with a raised eyebrow. ‘You haven’t watched that in a while.’

‘That’s why I’m watching it,’ Mary explained. ‘I talked about pricesses with Claire today and she said Snow White is a “classic.” I agreed but I don’t know what it means.’

‘It basically means something you’ll never forget. If there’s nothing else you want to watch … you’ll still want to watch that. You won’t get bored of it. It’s a little hard to explain.’

‘That’s okay, I get it.’

Their trips in the car usually had a broad range of topics and a variety of jokes or even whole joke segments like the party talk. The topic fell away into what Ben did at school and into him complaining about homework and such as he always tended to do, something Dean honestly didn’t blame him for because homework fucking sucked, but he had to be the grown up of the situation and make him do it and do it well otherwise he wouldn’t be a very responsible parent, now would he?

When they got home there was still an hour and a half until Claire arrived and it was time to help her out with cooking, so Dean set Mary up with a few cartoons, set Ben up with homework and some low volume background music (because come on, he wasn’t a monster) and disappeared upstairs to work on some of his stuff.

He got a piece of card and trimmed it to a 8x6” size, the same size as his medium sketchbook, and he flicked the book open to the page that held the Mary-inspired mermaid he’d drawn – he’d said he wasn’t going to work on this yet, but he figured why not. Mary had been into The Little Mermaid and mermaids in general recently, so he’d drawn a realistic one one day when bored. A multicolored scaly tail, wet hair after just getting out of the ocean and no seashell bra, because how the hell was a mermaid going to figure out how to make one of those? Her features were pointy but her face and expression soft, and she on a cluster of rocks by the sea. Originally she was going to be completely under the water, but after drawing what looked like a nice background of sea he decided to change it. Therefore having to change where he’d already inked in the words “Mermaid By ‘Undersea’ Cliff.” He put quotation marks around “Undersea” to make it seem like it was the name of the cliff.

He messed up a little at the bottom; he forgot sand and went straight in with blue and afterwards tried to make that seem like a shadow, but he failed abysmally and tried to turn the parts under the rocks into wet spots, but it didn’t quite work out so the rock area wasn’t his favorite set of rocks he’d ever done, but he liked the rest. The sky changed abruptly from blue to turquoise with a few blue scratches going down into the turquoise to make it seem as though they sky were trying to make up its mind weather-wise. And the sky matched the colors in the mermaid’s fin, right down to the silver swirls in the sky matching the silver lines on the tail.

So, he needed to recreate that entire thing exactly, minus the messed up rocks, and so he got started laying down some foundation and indication lines, built it up into the picture and decided to stop after inking in the work. He didn’t bother with lineweight, just like in the original. He wanted the piece to be more about color but speaking of color he stopped the copy before he got to that, to come back to it later. It had only taken fifteen minutes to get everything matched up exactly.

Dragons. Dragons next. Or would he decorate his brown sketchbook, so far unused with a plain cover? Charlie had told him to draw a black Hermione Granger on the front of that when he got it, so that’s what he’d do. He’d need a while to come up with a character design for a Hermione he liked, though, so dragons. But he needed to refresh himself and practice with drawing those … so …

Something random in his sketchbook. Playing around. He blew through two uncolored sketches easily; a mermaid reading a book in her bedroom in a half-beanbag half-chair, wearing a Harry Potter t-shirt. He added some color to the tail to indicate this would be a Hufflepuff mermaid then to her clothes and hair and a coke can too. Then he left a blank page to experiment with some new markers he’d gotten that weren’t copics but he wanted to try them. And then on the next page he drew and inked in a heart with pieces of torn paper curling out around the edges. He didn’t put anything in the heart. He’d save that for another time. And then, just to do something more, he colored the paper curling and seriously misjudged the yellow shade he chose for those ripped paper pieces (this was still a relatively new sketchbook with a toned paper, a tone he wasn’t used to), but he managed to save it with a light brown color, making it look like old, darkened parchment and he got it to a point where he really liked it. And so he closed over his sketchbook and opened up his sketchpad which he used for practice, and began to draw hands. Over and over. Because he hated drawing hands, even though he had a wooden model that he could move into various positions.

At a quarter to five Dean went to go seek out Ben and look over his homework as he did every day and then he let Ben and Mary go off together into the living room to do their thing while Dean set up the kitchen for cooking. Claire arrived at five on the dot.

When Dean opened the door Claire was smiling up at him politely, apron and what was clearly a homemade chef’s hat already on.

‘Sioux-chef reporting for duty, sir,’ Claire announced, saluting as if she were a cadet in the military looking upon her sergeant.

‘Come in,’ Dean replied with a slight roll of his eyes and a shake of his head as he laughed. ‘And the father of the sioux-chef?’

‘Arriving an hour from now at eighteen hundred hours.’

‘You do know this isn’t the military?’

‘I was just watching Malcom in the Middle reruns. Francis, military school, you know. Or do you?’

‘Yeah, I know,’ Dean nodded. ‘The kitchen is just in here – you probably guessed that.’

‘Your house is mine backwards,’ Claire nodded.

They were almost at the kitchen when a set of tiny footsteps pounded towards them and Mary emerged from the living room dragging her fluffy white dog of many names behind her, which she’d brought down from her room.

‘Claire!’ she squealed, looking up at her. ‘Look, I have a Snowball too! Look!’

She picked up the dog and held it up like Rafiki holding up Simba in The Lion King and Claire pet it nicely.

‘Aw, a puppy?’ she asked. Mary nodded. ‘Very cute.’

‘Look –’ Mary began, grabbing hold of the leash she’d let drop. She pressed the button and the toy dog barked. ‘He likes you.’

‘Well I like him, too,’ Claire replied graciously, giving the toy another pat on the hard, robotic head.

‘Maybe you two can walk your dogs together some time,’ Dean joked, and then he spied Ben peeking out of the living room door a little way behind them. ‘Hey. In or out.’

‘In,’ said Ben. ‘Pokémon is on. I just wanted to say hi. So hi.’

He nodded at Claire when he said it. Ben was generally good at meeting people, but the fact that this was a teenager and not an adult or at least accompanied by one threw him and he didn’t know exactly how to act. The age difference was small yet insanely large.

‘Hi,’ Claire replied. ‘What episode is it?’

‘Team Rocket are in Nimbasa City and Ash and his friends are in Nimbasa Town and there’s a tournament. Bianca is there too.’

‘I don’t think I’ve seen that one,’ Claire mused. ‘I can’t be sure. You should watch it and tell me how it ends to see if I remember.’

Ben nodded, gave a small wave and then vanished again, closing the door behind him.

‘I’m going to watch too. Say bye, Snowball.’

She made the dog bark again and Claire laughed.

‘Bye, Mary. Bye, Snowball. Enjoy.’

‘We will,’ Mary sang happily, skipping back into the living room.

‘You’re good with meeting the kids of an all-but-stranger,’ Dean commented as they headed towards the kitchen.

‘I babysat for two years when I was thirteen and fourteen,’ Claire shrugged. ‘I’ve been told I’m mature for my age.’

‘I can tell.’

Claire did seem mature indeed, yet bright and excitable at the same time. Dean had little to no experience with teenagers, only meeting them in passing usually, and he pretty much just treated them like mini-adults even if it was a stretch. With Claire, it didn’t seem like a stretch, and he didn’t get that weird feeling of “my new neighbor’s kid is in my house, how the hell did that happen?” and instead just felt at ease and ready to show the eager young lady a thing or two about cooking and about art and about whatever else she seized the opportunity to learn about from her nice new neighbor.

‘So,’ Dean began, putting his hands together as he gestured around the room. ‘Here we are. Let’s get started.’

Dean was able to get into the roles that Claire seemed to want to be in, of head-chef and sioux-chef rather than observer and observee, or even teacher and student. He let her learn as he went, pretty much how he did it with his own kids only to a bigger extent, because with Mary of course there were blatant limitations and with Ben the limitations were smaller, but Dean still didn’t think it was a good idea to let him lift pots of boiling spaghetti over to the sink, yet it was a task he entrusted Claire with because she was older and clearly more able. 

They worked in casual, upbeat harmony and Dean let her watch as he chopped stuff and then let her try it out, let her stir stuff and keep an eye on simmering pots, let her fetch him things both food and culinary equipment and all in all it was as enjoyable as painting had been earlier when she’d stolen him away from Cas to talk perkily on as she did. In the kitchen, they weren’t always alone, and Mary stopped by for a drink and a few minutes of helping out and Ben stopped by, also for a drink, and stayed to describe what had happened at the end of the Pokémon episode, which made Claire remember she’d definitely seen that one.

‘That one aired just the other day, right?’ she asked.

‘I think so,’ Ben nodded. ‘TV said it was a repeat of the most recent after it ended.’

They were nearing the end of the road when it came to the cooking at six, when there was a knock at the door that Claire volunteered to go get, pretending that it was a surprise to her.

‘I wonder who what could be?’ she mused in an over-the-top parody-acting like way, on her way to open it, soon returning holding Cas’s wrist with him following along behind her into the kitchen as Dean finished up stirring the sauce and the mince together.

‘Sit,’ Claire commanded, as if she owned the place.

Castiel raised his eyebrows at her in an “are you kidding me?” kind of fashion.

‘Sit,’ Claire repeated, pointing at the table.

Cas rolled his eyes and walked past her, nodding at Dean as he did.

‘Hey,’ he said sheepishly, putting his hands in his pockets because he didn’t know what else to do with them. ‘I would’ve brought something but … I literally have nothing and wouldn’t know what to bring anyway.’

Dean laughed at Cas’s manor, and Dean’s laughter made Cas break out into a smile which preceded some laughter and a small shoulder shake.

‘That’s fine,’ Dean promised him. ‘The whole reason you’re here is because you have nothing, remember?’

‘Actually it’s to talk about my portrait,’ Claire pointed out.

‘That too,’ Dean agreed. ‘Can I get you anything? Or can she, since I busy mixing this?’

‘I’m fine,’ Castiel replied with a polite smile.

‘Sit,’ said Claire, for the third time.

‘I’d do as she says,’ Dean advised. ‘She’s in professional-mode.’

‘Yeah, she gets like that sometimes,’ Castiel replied with another eyeroll as he headed towards the table, earning a smug smile flashed on Claire’s face. ‘Any time she’s doing something well she just goes all, well … you can probably see.’

‘I can see.’

‘Since the cooking part is virtually done, can I set the table?’ Claire asked, as if they weren’t talking about her at all.

‘Dishes are there, cutlery is there,’ Dean replied, pointing at the cupboard and drawer in turn. ‘And it’s not virtually done. It’s done.’

As he said it, he put down the wooden spoon. He put down the pot too, held up a finger, went around to the living room door that connected both kitchen and living room, (there were two doors in the kitchen; one led to the hallway and the other was on the more open side of the kitchen which had glass doors on one wall, parallel to the other door which led into the living room) and he beckoned to signal the food was ready.

‘You arrived with good timing,’ Dean commented, giving Cas a look that was vaguely impressed, accompanied by a lazy half-grin. ‘How’s the painting going?’

‘I just painted the downstairs bathroom by myself. We’ve here what, one night, and there’s already a spider in there.’

‘Cool,’ Ben said brightly, jumping into his seat at the table looking perky.

‘ _How_ are you my son?’ Dean asked, giving Ben a wary look. ‘You kill it?’

‘And buried it under a coat of paint. Sorry,’ he said sympathetically, looking at Ben’s slightly disappointed to face.

‘That’s okay. There’s a lot of spiders in the area this time of year. I’m Ben, by the way.’

‘I assumed,’ Castiel replied. ‘I’m Castiel. You can call Cas.’

‘I heard,’ Ben replied, very politely yet in casual tones.

‘Anything else I can do?’ Claire asked, watching Dean put both the spaghetti and sauce in different bowls.

‘Drinks,’ said Dean.

So Claire took drink orders and Dean pointed out where the glasses were and the drinks were and got them ready while Dean placed the bowls of spaghetti and sauce on the table, along with utensils for self-serving, and then he placed a small pile of napkins by them as he always did for mouth-wiping and spillage which was especially important to remember to do when serving food with a sauce that was red and stained easily.

‘So was it a big spider?’ Ben asked eagerly.

‘I hope not,’ Mary said uneasily.

‘No, not big. One of those weird ones that just hang out in corners like an upside down claw.’

‘Big or small one of those?’

‘Medium.’

‘Those ones are so creepy,’ said Mary with a shudder.

‘Amen,’ Dean said seriously. ‘I don’t tolerate those home invaders coming into _my_ house and scaring _my_ daughter and making it seem like I’m not even related to _my_ son. Who do they think they are? By the way, help yourselves,’ he added.

‘Who am I, Hedwig?’ Claire asked dramatically, in reference to “who do they think they are?” as self -serving began. ‘What am I?’

‘What?’ said Ben.

‘It’s from that weird scene in the second Harry Potter movie where Harry randomly starts deep talking at Hedwig like this random owl would know the meaning of life.’

The way she said it made it sound funnier than it was.

‘So, what time does the furniture arrive?’ Dean asked, just so he’d know, because it seemed pretty late in the evening already.

‘Seven,’ said Cas. ‘Their latest delivery slot. I hope that’s not an inconvenience for you, because you know if it is …’

‘It’s fine,’ Dean promised. ‘It’s not like it’s going to take us a whole hour to eat.’

‘And for me to watch you work on art,’ Claire pointed out.

‘Well, that’s debatable,’ Dean said reasonably.

‘Okay, maybe not work on it. But it won’t take long to see it and meet the birds,’ she added, looking at Mary and grinning because she hadn’t forgotten that bird offer. ‘Then you can help with furniture, which shouldn’t take long, and then come back and work.’

‘You’re efficient,’ Dean noted.

‘I like to be organized,’ Claire shrugged.

‘Always,’ Cas added. ‘She’s always like this. She selects specific blocks of time to do this or that or whatever she’s doing. And she always denies it but I’m pretty sure she schedules each breath she takes per day. Like she actually sits down and puts it on a chart a day in advance.’

‘You can’t prove it without actually seeing the chart.’

‘One day I’ll find that chart and rub it in your face.’

‘Good luck with that.’

‘Thank you. I’ll need it. You’re good at hiding it.’

Claire grinned proudly.

‘Can I help with anything?’ Ben asked. He was always pretty eager to help out with things to prove how grown up he was.

‘We’ll need all the help we can get,’ Castiel answered.

‘Can I?’ Mary added hopefully. She knew she was small and probably too small to do anything that could help, but she had to at least try.

‘You can help me set up things in my room if you want,’ Claire told her kindly, turning a hopeful grin into a triumphant one.

The meal was a nice affair. It was rare that they had guests over for dinner, or at all really, besides the occasional family visit. Dean already felt as though he’d formed a good connection with both new neighbors helping them out earlier, so conversation continued to flow easily as it had earlier. Ben asked Claire a lot of questions when he heard about things she was interested in, and he answered a lot of questions posed to him too by her, and by Cas when he was curious about something, and Mary rambled on about all the subjects freely and in a way that was extremely adorable because, well … she was adorable.

It felt good to have people over, unusual, but good. Dean and Lisa had rarely had company over, too; they weren’t the type of couple to invite other couples over for like … double dates or whatever. But Dean could see himself as being the type of single parent to hang out with other single parents now; of course, given they were as nice as Castiel was, and their kids as nice as Claire. Or as pushy, since she was the reason this whole thing was happening in the first place, but it’s not like Dean minded. If his kids grew up to be anything like her he’d consider himself lucky. He just … he couldn’t fathom how _nice_ these people were. Just … genuinely nice people.

Hell, Claire – a teenager, usually creatures known for being moody and listening to loud music in their rooms – even offered to help with the dishes. But Dean declined her offer, saying he’d just use the dishwasher, so she accepted that and then grinned and asked, ‘could I look at your work now?’

‘Of course,’ Dean nodded. ‘I promised, after all.’

‘And I’ll show you the birds,’ Mary added definitively.

‘Yes,’ Claire agreed, her tone just as definite.

‘I wouldn’t mind seeing some of your work myself,’ Castiel commented, placing his hands in his front pockets as he seemed to do frequently.

Dean’s move of choice was usually folding his arms or just putting his thumbs in his front pockets or his whole hands in his back ones. He often studied people (out of habit – people-sketching in public brought it on) and liked to notice these things about them, especially when just getting to know them.

‘When you talk about it you seem … very into it. Very passionate about it. It makes me want to see what all the hype is about.’

Dean laughed as he gestured the way out and towards the stairs even though they could clearly see the way ahead of them. The entire group went, even Ben who hadn’t mentioned wanting to do anything in particular up there.

‘And are you at all passionate about _your_ work?’

‘Less about the teaching part and more about the subject itself,’ Castiel admitted. ‘I always hated how the subject was taught when I was in school as a kid, so I teach it how I’d always wanted it taught, but it’s more that getting to push my opinions on people about books and subjects and listen to theirs whether they agree or argue is always a bonus and it can be intellectually stimulating.’

‘I get that,’ Dean nodded. ‘I like talking about books and stuff. I joined a book club once but it sucked because all the other members wanted to do was drink and complain about their lives and half of them didn’t even read the books.’

‘Didn’t mom start going instead of you after she found that out?’ Ben asked curiously.

Dean paused. Come to think of it, that was true. He’d never thought about the specific reason she’d decided to go when he quit.

‘… Yes.’

The way he said it, an obvious realization, made everyone laugh including himself after a moment.

‘Well if you ever want to talk about books with someone, call me,’ Castiel offered. ‘Or I guess I should give you my number first. That’d make the calling part easier and you wouldn’t have to go outside and come next door all the time to talk about … whatever.’

Claire wolf-whistled.

‘I’ll give it to you right after I put my daughter up for adoption,’ Cas continued, without missing a beat.

‘And I’ll give you mine,’ Dean promised in return.

They were upstairs now, heading towards the loft. The steps were more ladder-like and a little steep. And as always, Mary went on Dean’s shoulders. They emerged into the spacious area one after the other (give or take a few seconds – to go directly after each other would cause unpleasant ass-face incidents) and Dean put Mary down after spinning her around once quickly.

‘Feel free to look around,’ he offered, Ben already heading over to the birds to check in on them before detouring over to where Dean filed his more comic-like stuff which he liked to go through.

‘I want to see examples of portraits you’ve done for people,’ Claire requested. ‘In all different styles.’

‘I’ll dig them up while she’s busy with you,’ Dean promised, gesturing Mary tugging on Claire’s sleeve.

Dean went to various places – cabinets, drawers, folders on shelves – around the room while Mary dragged Claire over to see their four budgies, each one primarily a different color with a name that matched the color, the name being one of each of the four Hogwarts houses. Cas wandered over there too to look inside and comment on the birds, allowing Mary to tell him and Claire about them, and then he wandered off to look at the walls – some framed pieces some not, some things painted directly onto the walls, then he went over to Dean who was still collecting examples.

‘You’re very good,’ Castiel commented.

‘Eh, it’s just a hobby,’ Dean joked with a shrug, laying down a portrait he’d drawn of Marilyn Monroe for fun, the style a light and not particularly detailed black and white sketch. ‘Y’know. I don’t take it too seriously.’

‘Oh, I can tell,’ Castiel agreed, getting in on Dean’s joke. ‘It looks like you rarely get to do much. So few pieces.’

‘I can barely scape up enough to cover the desk,’ Dean said with a dramatic sigh, dragging an old sketch pad and flipping it open to a pastel drawing of Phoebe Buffay. ‘I really should practice more.’

‘You definitely should. I mean, if you’re already this good …’

Cas couldn’t hold it together and was grinning, concealing laughter by the end of his sentence. Dean chuckled, looking down at the ground bashfully. He was always a little shy when someone who was more than a stranger or a client complimented his work.

‘Thank you,’ he replied sincerely.

‘I like the one of Captain America above the door,’ Cas pointed out, pointing at it as he did.

‘Oh man, Captain America,’ Dean replied, ‘I used to love those comics when I was growing up. So that new movie this year … that was long overdue. Best so far, probably.’

‘I’m ashamed to admit it’s the only one I’ve seen, and only because Claire made me,’ Cas said uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘She’s into it. Not me. But I liked the movie and if there’s more I’m definitely watching them.’

‘Read the _comics_ ,’ Claire hissed from across the room, where she and Mary were done with the budgies and were now with Ben looking at, ironically for the timing, some of Dean’s comic-style works.

‘Whatever you say,’ Cas replied with a roll of his eyes that Claire didn’t see, but Dean did, and it made Dean want to laugh. He’d laughed a lot today and it was nice to think about that.

‘Hey, I’ve got portrait examples over here,’ Dean added, making Claire’s head snap up and her shoot across the room so fast it was almost like she was a blur. ‘Take your pick.’

Dean had set out ten different portraits of different people – celebrities and characters mostly – all done in different styles with different materials, even if some of the style variations were minimal. Claire lingered over the line-art greyscale drawing of Snow White from that new show, Once Upon A Time that had started in late October of this year, and over a colored pencil double-portrait of Sharon and Ozzy Osbourne, and then over a grainy, black and white sketch of Daniel Radcliffe, half as Harry and half not, half glasses, half Gryffindor scarf, half robe …

‘Can you do this one in color like this one?’ Claire asked, pointing at the one latter two, having struggled for a while between the Harry and the Snow.

‘I can sure try.’

She grinned, huge and grateful and slightly wicked.

‘You said I could sit for the basic outline, right?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, that’s what I said.’

‘So how does that work?’

‘I basically sketch it out just the basic shape, no detail. Then I take a picture and get the detail from that, make adjustments to the basic if I have to, pick colors, add color and so on. I’ve got a lot of non-work projects I have to do, but since those are non-deadlined I can start work on that and do the basic sketch … whenever.’

‘Does the basic sketch take a long time?’

‘Not with my years of practice.’

‘Tonight?’

Dean glanced at Cas, who shrugged, then over at his kids and back at Cas who nodded, so Dean presumed that meant he could bring them with him.

‘Tonight,’ Dean agreed. ‘After the furniture is settled in.’

‘Excellent,’ Claire replied, with another grin and Dean noticed one side of her mouth almost always seemed to come up farther than the other. He, too, had been told that at times he had somewhat of a crooked smile if he wasn’t smiling all that hugely or laughing or something.

‘And you said I could watch you work on the thing with the glitter.’

‘I did.’

‘I won’t stay long,’ Claire promised. ‘Just until, like … nine?’

‘It’s okay with me. But it’s not up to me.’

‘Nine’s fine,’ Castiel replied. ‘It’s not like you’ll be blocks away. I trust you.’

Claire really was very smiley, and gave another ‘excellent. So. Should we go, then, and be there for the furniture delivery? Don’t forget to bring a sketch pad and a pencil or whatever you need,’ she added to Dean.

‘Never,’ Dean promised, moving off to assemble his things at once.

It was weird how casual, comfortable and close the two families were after a day, heck, after a meal for Ben. They trudged outside into the darkness together and then into the house next door, bright yet still startlingly empty, and Cas offered them all drinks while they waited while Claire went off to find Snowball for Ben to meet. She’d mentioned Snowball during dinner and Ben had been eager; Ben liked dogs a lot, and in truth so did Dean, but for years he’d pretended he didn’t just to back Lisa up because Lisa hated them. (Which was one thing Dean preferred not to think about because _literally how_?)

Snowball bounded around the kitchen, eager to please her audience, while Dean was probed for art-info by Claire about how he did different kinds of works he created, and about what he did in sketch books which she’d seen on his desk. That made Mary start talking about the mermaid and Mary talking about that made Ben mention the dragons and that made Claire want to know how to draw dragons, so Dean started talking about basic structure and breaking things down into basic shapes which both astonished and confused her because she’d never thought of that before.

‘I thought you said you took art in school,’ Dean frowned.

‘I’m starting,’ Claire corrected. ‘The rest of the time I’m self taught.’

‘Aha. So that’s why you wanted extra pointers or whatever. To get a head start.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Very clever.’

‘I know,’ Claire grinned somewhat smugly. ‘Truth is, before we moved I found out who all the neighbors were ad stalked them to see what they could offer me and you won out so that’s why we moved in next door.’

‘Really?’ Mary asked, somewhat worriedly, looking from Claire to Dean with a wary expression.

‘She’s kidding,’ Dean promised.

‘It’s true, I’m kidding,’ Claire agreed.

‘Not that she didn’t suggest some mild stalking,’ Castiel commented, giving Claire a shifty look to which she responded with a bold grin.

The delivery arrived soon after. The delivery men – two of them – helped get the things inside and the larger ones upstairs, leaving those in the house to deal with the rest, and so it was down to work bringing things up and down the stairs. A lot more went into a bedroom than one would think, and in the group effort things went smoothly, Dean and Cas tackling the big things, Claire and Ben the medium, Mary carrying the smallest things like cushions which Claire got a hell of a lot of, or the beanbag which she dragged behind her, and once everything was in place Claire came through on her promise to let Mary help her out in setting up the bedroom so she gave her instructions on where to place cushions and picture frames and a lamp and let her help make the bed too, before the two of them emerged and joined the rest in the kitchen once again.

Claire had the canary on her finger.

‘Portrait sitting time,’ she declared.

Claire grabbed one of the kitchen chairs for Dean to sit on in the living room and carried it in, transferring the canary to her shoulder as she did, and she set it up right in front of the couch which she proceeded to sit on. She’d added a flower crown to her head since coming down the stairs, and upon sitting she move the canary to her arm and posed right away.

‘That your pose?’ Dean asked.

‘Yup. I won’t be moving, I promise. So go ahead. I’m ready.’

Dean took a picture on his phone first, and then he began drawing.

It was a very quiet atmosphere. Snowball curled on the ground by Claire’s feet, but Claire had made it clear she only wanted a close up and not a full-body thing. The canary was very calm on her arm. Mary watched Dean draw as she did often, and Ben usually watched less than he did when he was younger but he watched carefully now, too, eyes flickering between the pencil and the subject, and Cas watched in fascination, standing and hovering in a way he worried would be annoying but if it was Dean didn’t say anything.

It was true. Dean was good, and he was fast, so it was over in no time and then it was time for Claire to watch Dean create his portrait of glitter.

‘Nine,’ Claire promised Castiel, who nodded approvingly.

‘Nine,’ Castiel echoed. ‘Go put the pigeon away.’

 Claire nodded, and then Castiel looked at Dean in a way that made Dean feel as though Cas wanted to talk to him alone for a moment; his tone implied it as did his gaze.

‘Hey, take your sister home. I’ll be there in a minute,’ Dean encouraged Ben, who nodded and at once turned to leave, each saying goodbye as they did.

When they were out of earshot, Castiel spoke.

‘It’s good of you to do this,’ he started. ‘I know it must be a little weird to suddenly have a random teenager hanging around your house.’

Dean shrugged, grinning easily.

‘This isn’t how I expected today to go, but I don’t object to it,’ he replied, thumbs in front pockets. ‘It’s like … just a random twist of fate. Unexpected but no problem, really. She’s a great kid. I’m happy to do whatever. Seriously, ask around, everyone here knows me. Everyone here knows _everyone_ , actually.’

‘Y’know, I’m starting to get that sense,’ Castiel replied, nodding, his hands in his pockets. ‘While Claire was over with you I had this older lady come over and welcome me to the neighborhood. Apparently she’s been watching. She knows you were here today.’

‘Short, black, kind of a … whispy sort of voice? I don’t even know if that’s the name for it.’

‘Yeah. You know her?’

‘Everyone does,’ Dean nodded. ‘I’ve known her since I was a kid. Old friend of my dad’s. She moved out here about two years ago, but she used to live farther away, closer to where I grew up. She’s nice.’

‘She seemed nice,’ Cas agreed, nodding.

‘It’s the old lady in the flowery skirts you need to watch out for,’ Dean warned. ‘She doesn’t even live here ,just close by and no one knows her name, but if you see her in the street you’ll still be there three hours later. Four or five for you, since you’re new.’

‘I’ll keep my eyes peeled,’ Castiel promised. ‘Thank you for the warning.’

‘No problem,’ Dean smiled haughtily. ‘I’ve got you covered.Like an advisory committee. I’ve been here a long time, so if there’s every anything or anyone you have questions about … you know who to call.’

‘I do. Which reminds me. We never exchanged numbers.’

‘Oh, right, yeah. It might get inconvenient going outside for every little scared-newbie question.’

‘I am _not_ a scared-newbie,’ Castiel scoffed, pulling out his phone, unlocking it and handing it to Dean, accepting Dean’s in return a moment later. ‘I’m just someone who is now concerned about old ladies in flowery skirts. I don’t have three hours to waste every time I see one.’

Cas’s screensaver was of him and Claire and their pets at what was presumably Christmas, and presumably last Christmas considering Claire only looked maybe a year younger. They were in front of a tree and Claire was holding a dog-sweater in one hand and a human one in the other. They matched each other and Dean tried not to laugh at what he imagined the dog looked like in the sweater.

Dean’s screensaver was from January, of his kids surprising him with gifts and breakfast in bed on his birthday. He’d changed it to that one about two months ago, one of the happiest pictures on his phone, from one that made him sad to look about or even think about, which had been of the whole family. But it had been time to change it; there was no use dwelling on the past, no matter how much he missed Lisa. It would do no use in hurting himself. And Dean had found that since changing it, he’d been able to move on more, too, and become happier himself.

They exchanged phones again moments later, numbers saved, just as Claire came back from wherever she’d been with the bird.

‘I’m ready, let’s go get glittery,’ she announced, coming to a halt in the kitchen doorway.

‘Let’s go,’ Dean agreed, nodding. ‘I’ll try to send her back relatively clean of glitter.’

‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep,’ Cas replied warily. ‘You don’t know her like I do. Even if she stays ten feet from the glitter it’ll be coming off of her for weeks afterwards.’

‘Like sand on a beach,’ Claire sighed dramatically.

‘I’ll still do my best,’ Dean promised.

They left soon after, after another few jibes from Cas that made Claire squint at him in annoyance and several moments where Dean tried not to laugh, and then they were headed for Dean’s studio, Cas off to get some boxes organized while he could. In a strange turn of ironic events, Dean spotted the floral-skirted old woman on the corner, shuffling her way out of the neighborhood towards home, illuminated and flowerey by the street light. He paused to watch her a second, chuckling to himself much to Claire’s confusion, then he turned and saw Cas looking out his living room window.

A text he received a moment later:

_Was that her?_

The text was from “Scared-Newbie ;)”

Dean, or “Neighborhood Advice Committee” as he’d saved himself in Cas’s phone, a joke that showed the two of them were thinking pretty much along the same lines replied, _Avoid at all costs._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sketch books belong to my friend and so does the mermaid, and the fact that Dean's redrawing it for his daughter is based on the fact that my friend had to draw two more copies for people who wanted them. The projects in the sketch books (which may make into the fic when complete, who knows) are also my friend's. Oh, and the book with the non-traditional love story between the girl and the non-human transgirl? It's called Midnight to Dawn, and it's been part of a series I've been planning for a friend for 5/6 years and am writing with that friend and her sister. (The sister is also my illustrator.) The other books in that series are called Midday to Eve, Dusk to Dusk and Light to Dark. They're pretty cool. Some vampire wars. Some wizards. Some ancient witch tribes. Good stuff. Lots of pop culture references.
> 
> And now ... pretty much copy-and-pasting and then slightly editing the notes from other fic updates of late but here goes.
> 
> It's been a long ass while since I uploaded anything but I've been busy. My brother had twins on the 4/5th (one before midnight and one after. Which I find to be just hilarious.) But I'm trying to get back into stuff. Then I had to go to LA, and then my entire family got sick. Except for me. And it was horrifying. But I'm trying to get back on track, ad you know, Christmas messes things up which is annoying because I personally don't even celebrate it (atheist, and it's a stupid commercial socially-constructed holiday anyway) but I have to celebrate it even though I want to because I have kids so ugh ;-; I'm just waiting for January when everything will return to normal unless someone else decides to get sick or birth another set of twins or something.
> 
> Also I have one question about another fic of mine which you may or may not have read, if you have then this is for you and if you haven't then this isn't. The fic? Don't Tell Sammy.
> 
> A friend of mine, an artist, is poor and living on $50 a week. As in $50 for EVERYTHING. Food and water and personal items and everything else. And her family live on the other side of the world and are pretty poor too. She's a friend who was going to illustrate for the original Don't Tell Sammy before it was too late because I was almost done, and she's currently acting as Dean and illustrating for What We Want - she drew this mermaid that Dean's gonna draw for his daughter and it's so so so so so pretty ABNURHEMkfjWKJEN I can't wait to put it in. Uh, anyway.  
> Point is, my friend needs money and still really really wants to illustrate don't tell Sammy, and I want to give her money but I sort of, well, NEED IT because I have children to feed and soon I won't be able to work for a few months. So I was wondering if anyone who enjoyed the fic would be interested in buying a paperback version (with any of the endings - original or alternates, I can make a paperback copy of each.) I once sold some books on a site called Lulu.com (removed them since) which is a pretty good site and it sets a minimum price so I don't know what that price would be, but the minimum is usually like $10 (+ shipping I guess?) or something in black and white and a little more in color. (Again I'd put up both options. So that's what ... 8 different book options now depending on ending and print? Yowza.)
> 
> Anyway, yeah, that's it. Just wondering if anyone would be interested in that. (It's okay if no one is, she says she's going to illustrate it for her own personal wants either way.)
> 
> I'll shut up now and keep working on what I'm currently working on. Also, more Don't Tell Sammy related stuff might be coming. I was talking to a friend who suggested writing it set in different seasons to see what would be different and I want to experiment with that. Anyway, yeah, I'll shut up now. Adios. Gotta work on a fic from another show now. The show is Gilmore girls and the fic is basically a continuation of the revival of anyone is interested, there's one short chapter uploaded.


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